by John Sneeden
Reid shrugged, still not convinced.
“You’re both right, but now there is a bigger issue in play,” the Oracle explained. “We know something is about to take place, something that Mironov and Marrese have been planning for quite some time. We know that it’s important enough for them to murder a former employee who they thought might expose them.” Ross held up a sheet of paper with two fingers and shook it for dramatic effect. “I received correspondence from the Director this morning. Needless to say, he’s very concerned that Zane has been taken. And he agreed that getting Zane back needs to be our top priority. But he has also given us a new directive, which in a way was our original mission. We need to find out exactly what is about to happen. And we need to do everything in our power to stop it. One man already died because of this. It would be a tragedy if that man died in vain.”
There was silence in the room. Amanda was flushed with emotion, thinking about what her father must have been up against. It was becoming clear that he knew about the event, and that his knowledge led him to leave Renaissance, a decision that had cost him his life.
Reid broke the silence. “How can we even be sure they’ll show up tonight? They must know that we raided their boat last night, and that we’re looking for them. Why would they even show up at the banquet?”
“I’ll tell you why they’ll show,” said Ross, leaning forward. “They have no idea that we know about the banquet. Brett, you want to fill Connor in on what you learned?”
“Yes, sir,” Brett replied. “I was able to get into CERN’s computers, and neither Mironov nor Marrese show up on the guest list. Apparently, they weren’t invited and are showing up unannounced, that or else they were invited but asked that their names not be put out there in the public square. In other words, their attendance is not common knowledge.
“But more importantly, I think it must be vital to whatever it is they’re doing. I mean, why attend an awards banquet right on the eve of this event that they’ve put together? We can’t rule out the possibility that the event and the banquet are one and the same.”
“Do we know how CERN plays into this?” Skinner asked.
“No, we don’t,” the Oracle said. “We only know what they do. Brett, this might be a good time to fill everyone in.”
“The physicists at CERN study subatomic particles using the Large Hadron Collider, or LHC, the largest collider in operation on the planet,” Brett stated. “The facility and the equipment are the pinnacle of this kind of research. So what does that have with Renaissance or advanced robotics? I haven’t a clue.”
“Aren’t they the ones who discovered that particle… the one everybody called ‘the God particle’?” Skinner asked.
“Yes,” Brett replied, turning toward the operative. “The technical name is Higgs boson, which is actually smallest piece of what is called the Higgs field. The Higgs field is actually the more important of the two. It is the field that gives subatomic particles their mass. It was theorized years ago as an attempt to explain why some particles have mass and others don’t.”
Carmen laughed. “Not sure I follow you, but I’ll take your word for it.”
“My old college professor used to explain it this way,” Brett said. “Think of the Higgs field as water and the Higgs boson as the H2O molecule that makes up water. Now think about how various living things travel through water. A thin, streamlined fish without much mass will be able to cut through the water quickly. There isn’t much resistance at all. On the other hand, an elephant with a great deal of mass can’t move through the water quickly. The difference is obvious.”
“Okay. But it still doesn’t help us understand why Mironov and Marrese would have an interest in an organization that studies such things,” Carmen replied.
“It’s a mystery, no doubt. Keep in mind that Higgs boson is only one of many things they study at CERN.”
“And that was my point earlier, Carmen,” Ross said. “I don’t have the foggiest notion of how to link the two together. We can’t even be one hundred percent certain that CERN is connected to their plans, although it seems likely, given the circumstances. They certainly aren’t going to that banquet for the hors d’oeuvres.”
Carmen frowned. “I just remembered something. CERN is used by nations all across the globe. Do we know what projects are going on at this time?”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Brett said. “CERN is in the middle of a two-year shutdown right now. They’re making repairs to the collider. And if you wanted to do something at the facility, then what better time than during a shutdown?”
“Brett, can you hack back into the administrative section of CERN’s network?” the Oracle asked.
“Yes, why?”
“Because they’re going to have a couple of people added to their guest list.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“I MUST TELL you something, Nicolas,” Philippe Bachand said. He stopped walking and turned toward the young man with the curly blond hair. “When you came here, we knew of your love for Scripture, and could see the foundation it gave you. But what I’ve been most impressed with is your passion for prayer.”
“Thank you.” Nicolas made a slight bow, his mouth turning up into a smile. “It seems I’ve had quite a role model.”
St. Pierre’s Cathedral was about to close for the night, and Philippe was walking his young apprentice, Nicolas Arseneau, to the front door. Several tourists lingered at the back, taking last-minute pictures, and a custodian was already out picking up trash and wiping down the pews.
They began to walk again, the sound of each step echoing off of the stone arches. “Truth be told, prayer is not natural for anyone, Nicolas. The Lord develops it in us over time. And as we devote ourselves to prayer, and as we become more obedient to Him, the answers come.”
Philippe smiled at a German family filing out of the front entrance. He held the door open for the other tourists that were making their way toward the exit. “By the way, how is your mother?” Nicolas’s mother had been involved in a skiing accident and was at home nursing a broken ankle.
“Much better. Thank you, Pastor Philippe. Oh, speaking of prayers… she told me to thank you for yours. The doctors say her recovery has been much quicker than expected.”
“You see.” Philippe lifted an eyebrow, smiling.
The last of the tourists walked out, chatting about where to eat dinner. Philippe kept the door open with a foot and reached out to shake Nicolas’s hand. “Have a safe walk home, my son. I'll see you in the morning.”
Nicolas began to cross toward the steps and then turned around one last time to wave at his mentor. Philippe waved back, and then the young man disappeared into the darkness.
Philippe was so proud of the spiritual growth he was seeing in Nicolas. The young man had received wonderful Bible training at seminary, but he did not seem to be plagued with the dry faith that sometimes gripped graduates—that tendency to become so consumed by Scripture that they forgot it was the light that they were to take out into a dying world. Nicolas, on the other hand, truly recognized that the Bible was an owner’s manual for action.
Remembering it was time to close, Philippe began to pull the heavy door shut. As he did, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was bounding up the front steps. She was a young woman, perhaps in her twenties. Philippe held up a hand as she approached. “Mademoiselle—”
He never finished his sentence. Once the girl stepped into the light of the doorway, he recognized her immediately. He smiled broadly. “It’s you. I should have known. I sensed the Lord telling me someone would come.”
*
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Philippe said as he re-entered his private office and closed the door behind him. He placed a mug of coffee in front of Amanda and then sat down behind the desk with his own cup of cappuccino. Philippe’s workspace was lit with an assortment of white votive candles. The shadows of the flames danced around on the stone walls, adding life to th
e cold room.
Amanda took a sip of her coffee. “It's interesting that you knew someone would come.”
Philippe raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”
“Well, earlier today, in the middle of the afternoon, I was hit with this strange burden. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I had an overwhelming urge to come seek you out. I can’t explain it, except to say that I knew I had to come.”
“Isn’t it wonderful when the Lord lays the same thing on two people’s hearts.”
“It is,” Amanda agreed.
“So, you don’t have any idea why the Lord might have sent you? Can I pray for you?”
“I always need prayer,” Amanda said. She seemed to have something on her mind. “A lot has happened since we last spoke… and most of it not good.”
Philippe leaned forward. “Tell me more.”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Take your time. Relax.”
Amanda took another sip of coffee, set the cup down on the desk, and sat back in her chair. “Do you remember Zane?”
“Of course. How could I forget? It’s not every day that someone puts a gun to my head.”
Amanda laughed, but then her expression became serious again. “Well, he was taken hostage.”
“What? How did this happen?”
“It was when we went to the Renaissance offices, the ones you helped us find. I’m sorry I didn’t call you before. It’s just been so crazy.”
“No, don’t apologize.” Philippe sat up in his chair. “I understand. Who took him?”
“Mironov.”
“Alexander Mironov? Your father’s former employer?”
“Yes.”
“And your friend,” Philippe said. He took a moment to think, unsure how to frame his next question. “Is he still alive?”
“As far as we know, yes.”
“Oh, praise God. And do you know where he is?”
The answer to that question wasn't simple. Amanda told a convoluted story about Mironov's boat, a failed attempt to rescue Zane, and an encounter with a robotic woman. “She, the robot, said that Zane had probably been brought to Geneva.”
“So she was cooperating with them?”
“Yes, apparently she’s no friend of Mironov.”
Philippe scratched his chin. “Did she say why they would bring your friend here?”
“She didn't know. Mironov’s partner didn’t like this robotic employee, so she was cut out of the loop.”
“Mironov’s partner?”
“Yes, some Italian man,” said Amanda, biting her lower lip. “An exorcist. I believe his last name starts with the letter M.”
“M, M, M…” Philippe mumbled to himself. He suddenly looked up at her without moving his head. “Maresse?”
“Yes, that’s it!” Amanda shouted, snapping her fingers.
“Of course.” Philippe leaned back in his chair, staring at the flame of one of the votives as if it had given him the answer. “Vincenzio Maresse.”
“You know him?”
“I know who he is and… that’s not good news. I should’ve known he was somehow involved.”
“How could you have known he was involved in this?”
“I will tell you in a few moments. For now, I’d like you to finish your story.”
Amanda told him about the planned Christmas banquet at CERN, with Mironov and Marrese attending. “And there's more. They believe the two men are planning something big, at this banquet or at least in the next few days.”
“Of course,” replied Philippe. For the last few weeks he had come under a great burden when he prayed, particularly when at the cathedral by himself. The Lord had given him insight into many dark things, and had made it clear that he was to keep the information to himself until the appointed time. The pastor realized that the appointed time was now, and he knew that the American girl arriving a couple of days earlier had been no coincidence. Each and every part of her story fit with what he had received in prayer, only there were a few pieces still missing.
“I must tell you something, Amanda. I’m a simple man who has always had a simple faith. For years the Lord has gifted me in the simple but beautiful task of tending to the needs of my flock. It’s something I delight in; my life’s calling, if you will.”
Philippe stopped and picked up one of the votive candles, watching the tiny flame dance around inside the glass. Without moving his eyes from the candle, he continued, “But over the last few months, He’s led me in a different direction, showing me terrible things that are about to take place right here in this city. The visions were so intense that I questioned my sanity at times—that is, until many of those things came to pass.”
Philippe set the votive down and said, “He showed me that someone would come, and fill in many of the details that I hadn’t been given. The Lord showed me that I could trust that person, even partner with them in the battle that is about to take place.” Philippe sat down in his chair once again and looked across the desk. “Which is why I’m sharing this with you, Amanda. You are that person.”
There was a long moment of silence before Amanda finally said, “That’s a little scary. It truly is. But it would certainly explain why I felt led to come out here tonight.”
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Philippe asked. “And your concern is certainly understandable. But just remember, if He calls us to a perform a task, we’ll have everything we need to do it.”
“So, is it safe to assume that Mironov and Marrese are the ones who are involved in the dark things God told you about?”
“Yes, but God has chosen not to reveal to me what exactly they're going to do—maybe because we’d succumb to fear.”
A look of concern crossed over Amanda’s face. “So you have no idea what this might be about? That seems odd. How can we combat something, when we don’t even know what it is?”
“That is the way God often works. But I was shown one thing: whatever they’re involved with relates to ancient times. An ancient evil, if you will.”
Amanda frowned. “Mironov and his men are bringing back something from ancient times? I don’t follow.”
“Again, we will know in the proper time. God sometimes moves like a glacier, but His timing is always perfect.”
“But you’re sure that Mironov and Marrese are involved in the very thing that you were shown in your prayers? Perhaps they’re two different things.”
“I’m sure the two are related. When you told me that the priest was involved then it all began to make sense. Mironov is simply a willing pawn. The Enemy brought him in to provide the muscle and the money. Marrese is the one who has connected with the dark side. This madman has opened a lot of doors, but we must make sure that he never opens the final door.”
“My friends, the ones working for the American government, are pursuing them now. Who knows, perhaps they’ll be able to put all of this to bed.”
“The Lord appears to be using your friends for His purposes. However, you and I also have a role—perhaps an even more important one.” Philippe stood up. “The first thing we are going to do is to go back out into the cathedral and pray. And then we will go back to my apartment to prepare for a short trip.”
“Where are we going?”
“Into battle.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“BACH. BRANDENBURG’S CONCERTO Number Two, if I’m not mistaken,” stated Carmen, taking a sip of Chateau d’Auvenier pinot noir.
“What did you say?” asked Reid, unable to hear her over the orchestra.
“I said I believe that’s Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto Number Two,” she repeated in a raised voice.
“I’m impressed,” Reid replied, nodding. “Beauty and brains. I think I chose a good date.”
“Just keep your hands to yourself. Remember, I have brains and I’m not easy.”
“I’ll just remind you to do the same,” Reid deadpanned. “After all, I’m not sure you’ve ever seen me looking this good before
.”
The two operatives stood at the back of the crowd that was gathered in the main hall of the Bâtiment des Forces Motrices, home of CERN’s annual Christmas party. Despite the early hour, the party was already in full swing, with no shortage of drinks and loud conversation. Formerly a hydroelectric station, the Bâtiment served as Geneva’s premiere performing arts center. The beauty of the L-shaped building was due, in part, to its position on the Rhone River.
When they arrived twenty minutes earlier, Carmen had marveled at the interior of the nineteenth-century edifice. Soft purple lighting illuminated both walls, causing the long, narrow wing to glow like some futuristic nightclub. Arched floor-to-ceiling windows provided scenic views of central Geneva.
CERN had spared no expense, bringing in a chamber orchestra and the finest in food and drink. She imagined the gala was exactly the kind of event that Alexander Mironov would thrive in, provided the table conversation didn’t turn to physics.
The two operatives were able to get on the guest list due to some fine last-minute hacking by Brett Foster, who composed a convincing email letting the event organizer know there would be two last-minute additions, Mariella Bigatton and her journalist boyfriend, Keith Swinson.
While Brett made the arrangements, Carmen and Reid traveled to the Rue du Rhône, one of Geneva’s finest shopping destinations, to obtain appropriate attire. Reid was a reluctant participant, and due to time constraints, he ended up purchasing an ill-fitting suit that Carmen would later say fit only slightly better than a tablecloth.
Carmen, on the contrary, enjoyed the afternoon. The stylish operative visited a half-dozen stores before finally settling on a long black Valentino dress with a one-shoulder neckline. She topped off the look with a silver-buckle Chanel clutch.
She smiled as she thought about the expression that would spread across the Oracle’s face when the credit-card bill arrived in Arlington. If he inquired about the questionable cost, she was already prepared to remind him that a woman going to a black-tie affair with cheap accessories would be the equivalent of a man showing up in a suit and flip-flops. Besides, the purchase of the expensive clutch could be considered utilitarian, since her Beretta PX4 Storm Subcompact pistol fit snugly inside.
